


Were We Too Late?

by Thegingerhalf



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: A lot - Freeform, A n g s t m y g u y, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Unrequited Love, cuz thats what this is, sorry - Freeform, why cant i find an Angst with a sad ending tag on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 11:16:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12011580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thegingerhalf/pseuds/Thegingerhalf
Summary: Derek tells Reid about his son, and Reid's happy for him- he really, really is. If Derek's happy, he's happy. He's fine.Anyway, this is the aftermath.





	Were We Too Late?

He went home and he cried.

He'd been able to hold it in while they were at work. he'd been able to hold it in as they said their goodbyes, Morgan's arm slung happily over his shoulder, burning into him as they walked together to his car. He'd almost broken when Morgan insisted on driving him home instead of letting him just take the subway like he wanted to- needed to- he needed the rock of the car, the press of people he usually hated because maybe it would drown out this pain, just maybe. But Derek shook his head, laughing when he suggested it. “When's the last time you took that thing kid? I've been driving you home for maybe two years now.” Spencer tried to let out some bullshit statistic he'd just made up, spout a statistic and walk away, but Morgan's hand was light against his shoulder now, pressing him gently into the passenger seat and he is helpless to do anything but cave. 

So he held it in as Morgan drove him home, the smell of him all around, pressing into him at every part of his body; his voice, singing badly and off key to a new pop song on the radio he didn't know, wound its way into his head, strangling him. He stayed relatively quiet, shoving and stomping all of his emotional mess down into his shoes whenever Derek sent him a happy smile, a quick glance away from the road to share in this momentous occasion with his best friend, god dammit, and he swallowed the tears pushing at his eyes, the lump clawing up his throat so that he could give him his most genuine looking smile in return. 

Finally, blessedly, Morgan pulled up in front of his apartment complex, and Reid couldn't get out of that damn car quick enough. His fingers stuttered and tripped on his seatbelt, and Morgan laughed, reaching over his lap, his arm and torso radiating heat that felt like it was melting him, his hand searing into his knee where it was holding him up as he undid the clip. Reid swallowed- gulped- as he moved away, wanting to follow his warmth, wanting to curl into his side and just lay there, safe from the world, from the killers they hunted, from this pain, but instead he ran. At least it felt like running. He untangled himself from the belt, the one that dug into his shoulder the whole ride and felt like it was suffocating him- or maybe that was just the situation- and hopped out of the car, wanting to run inside and lock the door, wanting to run inside and never go outside again, wanting to run inside and just get away. But he turned, one last time, putting on the most convincing smile in his arsenal, the one he used on unsubs, the one promising fame and love to the person in the room clutching a corpse to their chest, and said what Derek needed to hear. 

“I'm so happy for you Derek.” 

And Derek's smile, the one he only saved for him, only ever him, lit up like a god he didn't believe in was shining through his teeth, and Spencer felt his stomach drop even further into his feet. 

“Thanks pretty boy, that means a lot” and Spencer almost collapsed then and there. He nodded, and if it was a little too tight, it was probably too dark to tell anyway. And he closed the car door, walking, not running, up the steps to the lobby, his keys shaking at the thought of sanctuary as he desperately tried to find the right one, so close, at the tip of his fingers, where he could finally cry in peace. He didn't remember opening the door, didn't remember much of his walk through the lobby except his decision to take the stairs. Now that he was moving, he couldn't stop until he was safe at home, until he could collapse behind closed doors and no one would see him. He was taking the stairs two- three- did he just clear four? at a time and he really couldn't say when it’d happened but he was here at his front door in record time so it didn't really matter anyway. He took a deep, settling breath and focused everything he had left in him on getting the key in the lock. Hearing the click, he pushed, falling into his living room, the momentum swinging his door shut behind him as he stumbled forward and collapsed onto his couch, finally. 

And he cried. 

He curled up into a tiny tiny ball, his face pressed into a throw pillow and arms curled so tightly around his body that some far off corner of his mind whispered about possibly breaking a few ribs. He sobbed his throat hoarse and his breath was rattling like an idling motorcycle every time he found the chance to breath. At one point he felt bile rising up in his throat, just from the exertion, but he swallowed it down until it left a sour burn coating his esophagus and he could return to the ragged sobs that wracked his shoulders relentlessly. He cried until he had no tears left, the pillow scrunched up so tightly in his grip it might never be the same, so soaked through you could probably water a plant with it, he thought. And he kept crying into it, maybe missing the tears but the sobs were still there and it’s the thought that counts right? And besides, he needed to muffle the sound somehow, because he couldn't handle some Good Samaritan knocking down his front door right now. 

Knock knock

Like that. 

Spencer held his breath, hoping if it seemed like he wasn't home then they would go away. There were one two three four five seconds of blissful silence where Spencer thought his ruse had worked before a deep, familiar voice shouted from the other side 

“Open up pretty boy, I know you're in there”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Spencer tried to clear his throat without it being audible from behind the door, wishing he had a glass of water or something before he gave up and responded, as normal as possible,

“What is it Derek?”

It could've been worse. His voice only cracked noticeably once. He could've broken down crying again. He could've said ‘what do you want Derek?’ ‘Go away Derek’ ‘I don't need you Derek’ ‘ I love you Derek’ but this was the biggest day of his life, and he was his friend, and he needed to be supportive right now, he had to be, because if he wasn't then what kind of a person even was he. 

“I came to check on you, you've been acting weird all day. And you're not answering my texts.” 

FUCK.

Spencer spared a glance at his phone, met with a home screen full of little green blurbs, and tried desperately to find a way to calm himself down. He wiped the pools from under his eyes, attempting to make it look like he hadn't been crying himself silly for the past- a glance at his watch, the wall clock to confirm, Jesus Christ- four and a half hours, but every quick trick he could think of needed more time. He needed to buy himself time. 

“I'm ok, it's nothing really, just a headache.” 

Wrong. He said the wrong thing. He could hear the worry through the door. 

“Headache, like your migraines? Are they back?”

Fuck.

“No, no I'm ok, really, just a normal headache. You don't have to be here.” Please be anywhere but here. 

“Pretty boy I'm coming in ok?”

No.

Fuck.

“No it's really ok I promise!” His voice had jumped an octave and he knew it, and Derek knew it, and in he came, god damn it why didn't he lock the damn door. 

‘Because you were too busy sobbing on your couch’ a helpful voice reminded him, his world crashing down around him as Derek crossed the threshold. He stopped when he saw him, the Star Wars box set and beer he'd brought with him forgotten on the counter as he came forward, taking in Spencer's wrinkled shirt, his scrappy hair and red, swollen eyes, the tear tracks that were less like streams and more like ponds smeared on his cheeks, the crumpled, tear stained pillow forgotten on the couch behind him. 

“Pretty boy what happened?”

But Spencer wouldn't ruin this for him. He made that promise to himself right now. 

“Hmm? Oh nothing, you just caught me in the middle of a sneezing fit, I think I might be allergic to my new fabric softener, actually studies show-”

“Woah woah Reid.” He interrupted, his arms up in a calming gesture, his face almost scared. “I don't care about any studies. What's wrong? You can talk to me.”

No

“Nothing's wrong, it's just the fabric softener, I was lying on the couch after work and my eyes just started watering and I couldn't stop sneezing, I'll probably just spend the night in the guest room, I haven't washed those sheets with the new kind yet.”

Derek didn't believe that him for a second. Fuck. 

“Spencer, what's wrong?” 

And maybe it was because he used his name, not ‘Reid’, not some dumb nickname, but his name; Maybe it was the concern in his voice, maybe it was the concern in his eyes, but Spencer lost all control for a moment. 

Derek's eyes widened when Spencer let out a horrible, wrecked sob, and had moved to close the gap between them before Spencer could think up another lie about why that was. Spencer stood statue still, his arms curled around his torso, his cheek only touching Derek's shoulder because it would put a weird kink in his neck not to, what with how close Derek had pushed them. He tried to remain an impassive party in this, to stay as still as possible and maybe Derek would take the hint and step back, but it seemed the harder he tried not to move, the tighter Derek pulled him, the more he just wanted to fall. Fall into his warmth, into the heat that always radiated off of him, to bury himself in the soft leather jacket Derek always wore, the one that smelled like him and warmth and summer and smoke and him and forget the world existed. 

It seemed an eternity before Derek squeezed him extra tight, burying his face in his neck, and Spencer lost all control. 

He let out another sob, right into his shoulder, his hands unwrapping from his body to fist themselves in Derek's jacket, his shirt beneath it, and pull them as close as their bodies would allow. Derek responded in kind, wrapping his arms desperately tight around his shoulders and waist, just standing there and letting him bawl into his neck, a new wave of tears he didn't know he had in him surfacing anew. 

Derek let him stay there for god knows how long, his hands tracing gentle patterns on his back and his mouth whispering meaningless words of comfort, and, once, Spencer might've been hazy from dehydration and overstimulation, but he swore he could feel him press a light kiss against his temple as he calmed down. However that just set him off again, less obviously, but where before he'd felt bone tired and done with the world, himself, everything, now he felt a new surge of despair wash over him like a tidal wave. 

They stayed there standing for entirely too long, Spencer's hands had somehow graduated from wrinkling his shirt to settled firmly around his neck, pulling him as close as he could bare, and crying himself dry.

Finally he sniffed, pulling himself back and away, out of his personal bubble, and rubbed the last of the tears from his eyes.

“I'm really happy for you, you know” he'd hoped he could deflect, focus on Derek and his fiancé and their kid, the kid named after Spencer, and if that didn't hurt like hell. But he looked up to meet Derek's eyes with a sad smile, and found him frowning back at him.

“Kid…” 

Spencer flinched at the name, thinking about the obvious comparisons and what that must mean he looks like in Derek's eyes, but was pulled back to Derek, always back to Derek, when he continued 

“Kid you just spent half an hour crying on my shoulder and the first thing on your mind when you're done is that you're happy for me?” Spencer only nodded, but he saw now his mistake. Of course Derek would drawn the obvious connection, how could he not? it was basic freudian association. How could someone with his IQ be so stupid? 

Derek must see something in his eyes because he steps forward, and Spencer steps back, trying to keep the distance he'd created, and keep his sanity along with it. Derek tried to reach out but Spencer dodged that too, so he kept talking instead. 

“Kid what am I supposed to think of that?” 

Spencer let out a little laugh accompanied by a sniffle, eyes scanning his bookshelf to his right instead of facing him. 

“You weren't really.”

“Kid…”

“Stop.” Derek froze where he'd tried to move forward, to hug him again, to lay a hand on his shoulder, (to kiss him? No.) It didn't matter, he wouldn't let him any closer, he couldn't let him any closer, or he would break entirely. 

“Derek please, I'll be ok tomorrow, go home to your- fiancée” the stumble was only barely noticeable and he blew past it “I'll be ok, I promise.” Maybe he'd put in a transfer, join another team, the thought hurt like a knife to the heart but he knew he couldn't take day after day of this. He nodded to himself, yeah, he'd get in early tomorrow and talk to Hotch about a transfer, and spend the rest of his days with his team studiously avoided agent Derek Morgan. That could work.

“Spencer I know you can get through whatever this is by yourself, but I'm telling you you don't need to.”

“Yes I do.”

Derek sighed, trying again to get closer, and again watching Spencer flounder away from him. 

“Ok, I'll bite. Why?”

Spencer shook his head vehemently, his fingers coming up to where he could bite the nail, his eyes trained on the year old coffee stain on the rug that he could never get up. 

“Spencer,” he looked up only because of the tone Derek had now, meeting his eyes and seeing caution. “Are you using again?” 

Spencer took a step back. 

“No!” He went back to biting his nails, but he forced his hand down to his side so he could look Derek in the eye. “No, I'm not using again. I'm clean.” 

Derek nodded placatingly, “I believe you.” He took a careful step forward. “If it’s not that, then what's wrong?” And Spencer didn't move. So he took another step, gently pushing Spencer to sit down on the couch, coming gently to sit by his side. 

Spencer was back to biting his nails, staring off somewhere into the kitchen and looking for all the world like he wanted to die. Derek just nodded, settling himself to not get an answer. Instead, he pulled him down against the back of the couch and into his side, just sitting there in silence for lord knows how long, his cheek resting gently against the top of Spencer's head. 

“I'm in love with you”

The words were so small, so quiet, that if he tried, Derek could almost believe he'd never heard anything. But the tears still fell softly into Spencer's hair, and he moved his hand to cradle Spencer's head while he buried his nose in his hair and breathed him in deep, maybe for the last time, the last time like this at least, and whispered back

“We couldn't’ve had this conversation at any other point during the ten years we've known each other?”

And now tears were leaking from the both of them, silent tears, without the same heavy sobs and sniffing and huffs of breath that had come before. Because they both knew what he meant. 

They'd missed their chance. 

They'd spent too long dancing around the question, too long expecting things to work themselves out, too long thinking ‘if he likes me back he'll say something,’ and they missed their chance. 

Derek took another deep breath, and the smell of just Spencer threatened to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes and let it wrap himself around him like a blanket, his favorite blanket, and knew this needed to end. 

“I love Savannah.” Spencer nodded, carefully, as if he dare not disturb the head on top of his. A breath. “And I loved you”

The past tense cut like a knife. And Spencer found the only thing he could do was take another deep breath, even the tears had finally stopped at this point. 

“I'm sorry” the utter brokenness of Spencer's voice sent another wave of tears falling from Derek's eyes, and he squeezed them shut as he kissed the top of Spencer's head, and even though he felt like punching something, anything, maybe a wall, he made the kiss as light as a snowflake, falling and melting on Spencer's hair. 

He stayed like that for as long as he dared, before lifting his head and moving to stand. Spencer's fingers caught on his, just barely, and he knew if he moved just an inch they would fall back into his lap, away from him, where they should be. But that small point, the burning pinprick where their fingers touched, felt like a welding point. Derek felt like he'd never be able to leave as long as they were touching right there, like the pull was magnetic, keeping him locked in his place. 

He swallowed. Again. And maybe Spencer knew what he was thinking because he let his hand drop, looking like he hadn't slept in a year and wasn't planning on it any time soon. 

Derek closed his eyes. He wanted to stay, God how he wanted to stay, but he knew if he did they'd both regret it.

He sighed, finally working up the strength to move. He straightened his jacket and walked to the door, swinging it open and ready to leave when he heard a weak voice following him from the couch. 

“I'll be gone by Thursday.”

He let his forehead fall gently against the small side of the door, his eyes closed as he tried to clear his mind. He wanted to say ‘don't go’. He wanted to say ‘I love you too’. He wanted to say ‘let's run away, I have a cabin up in the woods I've been renovating that I know you'd love’. But he felt himself nodding, the grain of the door scratching against his skin, and he walked out. 

The movies and beer Derek had brought with him, back when he'd thought this would be a routine ‘bad day’ set up, where they drink, and Spencer tells Derek all the scientific inaccuracies as they come onscreen, were still sitting on the counter, staring back at him like a taunt, like a reminder of all he'd just lost. Spencer stared at them through red ringed eyes from across the room, and time felt meaningless as they stared back. 

Tomorrow he'd drink every beer in that six pack, down the rest of that scotch Rossi had brought over on his birthday, the one that'd aged for 28 years and probably cost entirely too much. Then, maybe, if he was still sober enough that the floor wasn't tilted upside down, he'd head up to the liquor store on fifth and clear the shelves. Whatever the plan, the point was clear; tomorrow he drinks his pain away. But tonight, he just really wants to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! i was feeling sad so I wrote a lot of Sad. i'm very sorry but also this is like the best thing I've ever written and it was done in a single early morning angst fueled haze so I'm not sure what that says about me as a writer. sorry if I made you sad :(
> 
> (you can come visit me on tumblr at 'thegingerhalf')


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